


your love, it fills me up

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: Star Trek Bingo 2020 [19]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Bathtub Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Inspired by The Witcher, Light Angst, Magic, Magic bonds, and tasha has sensory issues, basically tasha feels datas feelings for him, because its the witcher of course there is, but its brief, but its sweet too, data supposedly doesnt feel, flashbacks and dreams, i stole the worldbuilding but im using my own magical concepts, implied deanna troi/will riker, in that neither data nor tasha asked to be enchanted like this, non-consensual magic usage, nonlinear storytelling disguised as linear storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25867954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: There are magics on the Continent that the average person reviles. Magics that turn men into monsters.Tasha would like to call bullshit, because there is nothing monstrous about the man she loves.
Relationships: Data/Tasha Yar
Series: Star Trek Bingo 2020 [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875274
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10
Collections: Star Trek Bingo Summer 2020





	your love, it fills me up

**Author's Note:**

> For the bingo prompt "alternate realities" because I finally watched The Witcher and if something is worth making into an au, its that. To be clear, no Star Trek characters are witchers in this story, and you don't really need to see The Witcher to understand what's happening. I put my own magical flare onto the worldbuilding, because I was intrigued by how I could make Data fit into a fantasy setting. I'm actually pretty pleased with how it turned out, although the timeline might be a little confusing to follow. It can't be worse than the actual timeline for The Witcher, though, so I'm calling it good. The content is kind of borderline between Mature and really earning the Explicit warning, so I erred on the side of caution.

_Tasha spat and cursed as she fought against the grip of the man holding her, words that oughtn’t have come from the mouth of a lady, but then, Tasha was no lady and never had been. No one cared if a street girl used foul language, and at fifteen the streets were all Tasha had ever known. She’d had parents, once, but they’d died when the city had been decimated, overrun by soldiers and their sorcerers looking to secure a foothold in a new land. The only people left were those too stubborn or idealistic to move on, carving out places among the slowly rebuilding ruins. Tasha would have moved on too, but the woods were harsh and the sea harsher. All manner of men and beasts lurked within, to say nothing of the perils of the weather. Without supplies, a horse or a guide or magic, there was nowhere safe to go, and Tasha could neither afford nor steal enough of any of the above to make a difference._

_She’d had a dagger, but that had been wrenched from her when the men had taken her, although not before she had managed to sink it into the thigh of the one who dragged her now, barely hampered by the wound, his grip on her hard and unyielding as he shoved her down the dank hallway before him, the stone dripping from the elements, the floor covered in dust that stirred with their footsteps, motes floating up into the angry torchlight lining the walls. They’d gone underground some time ago. Tasha wasn’t even certain they were below the city anymore. She swore, in the distance, she could hear running water._

_They turned a corner, Tasha still fighting, kicking and scratching to no avail, unable to tear through the leather of his armor with only her broken nails. She was thrust through a doorway, yelping as she nearly crumpled to the floor, held up only by the choking grip on her neck. “We’ve got one, sir,” the man holding her rumbled. He’d been flanked by two companions – in case she gave them trouble, Tasha surmised – but they stood back now, hanging by the door._

_Across the room, his back to them, the man he’d addressed glanced back from the table he stood over, laden with stone containers and bits and bobs. Items of magic, Tasha recognized, familiar from stores she’d pilfered from low-level healers and conjurers. The mage clucked his tongue. “Good, good.” He picked up a gray stone mortar, grinding a pestle into whatever contents it contained. “We’re almost ready, then.”_

_He sounded distracted, unconcerned, and Tasha snarled, her lip curling. She thrashed. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I’ll kill you! You hear me? I’ll kill you!”_

_She screamed as she was thrown against the ground, a foot coming down hard on her back. “Apologies, sir,” the grunt growled. “She’s a fighter.”_

_“It’s no matter. You seem to be managing her, and she’ll need to be a fighter if she wants to survive the ceremony. Lore’s girl went mad, and the others’ broke completely, and they were all too willing to surrender. No, I’ve got a feeling a fighter is exactly what my boy needs.” The mage’s tone was amused, and on the floor Tasha panted, fighting to catch her breath, her teeth bared as she spat blood from her mouth. He spared her another look, shaking his head. “You’re sure no one will miss her?”_

_“Look at her.” The heel ground in harder. “Girl on the street this long without someone hauling her off? No one’s looking.”_

_“Perfect.” The mage set down the mortar, stepping away from the table and turning fully, so Tasha could see him in full view. He smoothed down the front of his brown doublet, an unassuming smile on his face. He nodded towards one of the guards by the door. “I’m ready now. Bring in the boy.”_

_Tasha couldn’t see him leave, but she heard the swing of the door and footsteps receding. The man holding her chuckled, and Tasha shrieked as he seized her hair, wrenching her to her feet again. “He tried to make a run for it too, the coward,” he hissed in her ear with relish. “You’ll make a perfect matched set.”_

_“Quiet!” the man before them snapped, his eyes going hard. He took a step forward, expression darkening as he snarled, “You don’t speak of my son that way, do you understand?”_

_The response was contrite, but just barely. “My apologies, sir.”_

_The door banged open again, and Tasha managed to crane her neck, catching sight of the boy the other guard hauled in, a hand firmly at the back of his neck and one squeezing his arm, the boy stumbling at the rough treatment. He did look like his father, uncannily so – or perhaps not that odd, with his father a mage – and was perhaps the same age as Tasha, give or take a year. His eye was blackened, his cheek bruised like he’d been struck with an open palm. There were scratches along his hairline, as though he’d been dragged over sharp ground, and twigs in his chestnut hair to match. He stared at Tasha, bright blue eyes wide, and then threw himself against the guard’s grip, towards the man in charge of the scene. “Father, do not do this. It is not right, this magic-“_

_“Shh.” He crossed the room in swift strides, cradling the boy’s face between his hands. “It’s alright, my son. I’m doing this for you.”_

_“I do not want it!”_

_“I’m giving you a gift,” he crooned. “Some men would kill for such perfection.” He looked up, nodding sharply to the other guards. “Bring them into the circle.”_

_Tasha howled, redoubling her efforts as she was dragged again, knocked hard to the floor, coughing as chalk dust filled her lungs. Her eyes widened, staring at the white on her hands from the floor, then at the markings she’d been thrown into. She might have had no skill herself, but Tasha could recognize the markings of magic, sigils of enchantment ringing the floor. The boy was thrown down opposite her, his shoulders trembling, fear etched into every feature. “I am sorry,” he called to her, voice shaking. “I am so sorry, I told him no, I said I did not want this-“_

_“Quiet, now.” The mage, the boy’s_ father _, stood back at the table, picking up another mixture. He approached, and the guard hauled Tasha to her knees. She spat, jerking away from fingers that painted her cheeks with something wet and hot, trying to bite and failing. The boy begged, trying to squirm away at the same treatment, ignoring his father’s croons of reassurance as he drew the sigils. The mage picked up a candle, lighting it and murmuring something in a language Tasha couldn’t understand. The candle flared, shooting white hot, and Tasha’s face began to burn. She cried out, louder than the chanting, fighting against the grip on her, but there was no more give now than there had been before. Her chest tightened, like she’d swallowed hot coals, tightening like iron bands were wrapping around her. Agony seared through her, lighting her aflame, digging down deep inside her like she was being carved into, hollowed out, daggers scraping into flesh and making room for something that burned, and across the circle Tasha could see that she was not the only one in pain. The boy’s blue eyes flew wide, flame flaring to life inside them, his skin lighting and shining as if a sun had burst through flesh, cracking and searing, and Tasha watched him open his mouth and scream and scream and scream._

Tasha jolted upright with a gasp, sucking in sharp, short breaths, a hand pressed to her chest as she fought to breathe again. Her shoulders shook, the last vestiges of the dream still clawing at her skin, and her fingers tightened, nails clawing into her palms. Her bedroll had been kicked away, probably by her thrashing in the night, but at least she had not thrown it far.

A hand set lightly on her shoulder, and she looked up. Data cocked his head at her, yellow eyes soft. “You were dreaming again.”

Tasha nodded, swallowing hard as she pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms tight around them. Beyond their little camp, she could hear the trees swaying, animals calling to one another in the night, insects chirping out their songs.

Data sat beside her. Under the canopy, blocking the moon and the stars, their fire long since extinguished, Data didn’t shine like he did in the light of day. His figure was ghostly, eerie, pale as death, his yellow eyes glinting unnaturally. Quietly, he asked, “Would you like to talk about it?”

“What’s there to say?” She hauled her bedroll towards her, tugging it up around her again. “They never stop, and they’re always the same.”

“The ceremony?”

“What else?” There were other dreams, but none that brought such a panic to her body.

Data looked to the ground, and a pang went through Tasha’s chest. She took a deep breath, letting it roll through her and out, practiced now after so many decades. She nudged him gently with her shoulder. “I don’t suppose we’ve got anything left from the deer, do we? You know how dreaming makes me hungry.”

It was an attempt at a joke, but a poor one. It wasn’t Data’s lack of laughter that told her – she had never heard him laugh, nor expected ever to do so – but the tightness in her chest that did not abate. But he did not comment on it, did not point out that everything stoked her appetites, in one fashion or another. He just stood, returning to her side momentarily with the remnants of their earlier meal. She took it gratefully, uncaring that it had long since gone cold, wolfing it down straight off the bone, picking chunks off with her fingers. Data stayed seated beside her, stiff until Tasha leaned into his side. It made him relax minutely, and Tasha felt the ache abate, uncurling until she felt she could breathe normally again.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” she said quietly. A habit at this point, and one Data acknowledged as he always did: without a word. Tasha couldn’t blame him. She felt his guilt as surely as if it were her own – and after in, in many ways, it was – and knew that nothing she said could ever heal it fully. This had been thrust on him as much as it had been on her, but he was not the vessel. Their deals were both raw, but Tasha knew that Data considered hers the worse. She wasn’t certain she agreed. It was no great joy to have her appetites, to try and quell the surging within her, but at least there was something there. She could not fathom being an empty shell.

She chewed and swallowed, slow the way she’d learned, because no matter how urgent the need felt to fill her stomach, it would only hurt if she went faster, if she didn’t give her body the time it needed to adjust. “I don’t know if I’ll get back to sleep tonight,” she murmured. Her body thrummed, restless.

“You require rest,” Data returned. He did not look at her, gaze kept on the coals where the fire had been. “It is a full day’s walk tomorrow if we want to make it to the next town.”

“I know.” Tasha winced, squirming uneasily even as she tore off another bite, licking the wetness of the flesh from her fingertips. “But it’s too much. I can’t…”

Data’s fingers brushed against her ear, pushing her hair back behind it. He was watching her now, and Tasha met his gaze. Her stomach churned, and she swallowed, lowering the venison to its wrapper.

She shuddered when he leaned in, pressing his temple against hers, so they were cheek to cheek. Their version of a kiss, safe even as Tasha ached inside, hungry for more. Data’s fingers rubbed soothingly against her hip, and she took his hand, moving it lower, letting him know where she wanted it.

Decades ago, this had been difficult, frightening. Now Tasha was an old friend to the hungers, and she knew how to feed them. It was only a gentle gnawing, far from some bone-deep agonies that she had suffered, the starvation that ate at her if it was not fed, but Tasha knew she would get no rest tonight without some small satiation. This was the price.

She moaned softly, rocking her hips into Data’s hand, his fingers circling expertly, touching her through her smallclothes. Part of her longed to touch him, to give this pleasure back, but it was late, and the sooner she could sleep the better. They would have to rise at first light. She bit her lip, fighting to hold in the sounds of pleasure as Data’s touch became more insistent, urging her towards the edge. She couldn’t hold back the cry when she peaked, slumping against him so that he supported most of her weight. His hand withdrew, only to ease her back to the ground, tucking her bedroll up about her shoulders, making sure she would be warm. Tasha reached up with shaky fingers, touching the fastening of the cloak at his throat, adjusting the fabric minutely, and the faintest smile graced Data’s lips as warmth washed through her. She snuggled down again, her eyes growing heavy and closing, and she did not dream again before dawn.

The magic of shells and their vessels was an old one, although not as old as the Continent. Not as old as magic itself. It was a magic purely of man’s invention, of his need to be greater than he was. In some magics, they poured things into human conduits, twisting and growing them with strength and skill, making literal mountains out of men who were little more than boys. But in others, in those not looking for fighters, those looking for the cool calculation of a healer or strategist without qualms, without need of rest or nourishment, from those they took everything out.

But magic must go somewhere, just as it must come from somewhere. Just as the witchers took on traits, mutating magics drained from the creatures of their houses, a man could not be purged of human desires without those needs going somewhere. Enter the vessel, filled up so that the shell might be emptied. The stories were mostly legend, cautionary tales of women who went mad, shrieking at the overwhelming appetites, the hunger and thirst that could never be quenched, the lust that could never be satiated. The emotions of men, their painless existence bought with agony from the women who endured it in their stead, feeling so much that a human mind could break under the weight. And the dangers too, of the men who could not feel, who were inhuman, monstrous, because they could not tell right from wrong, felt no more remorse or guilt over a misdeed than they could feel joy or pleasure from a virtuous one. Dangerous men, indeed, who did not feel. Barely men at all.

It was a bunch of bullshit, in Tasha’s book.

Or, well, bullshit was perhaps a strong word. She remembered when she had been young, when the magic had first engulfed her, the weeks she had spent locked away ‘for her own good,’ shrieking with agony, overwhelmed by the feelings at war inside her. She had been fed little, and what she ate had made her sick, scarfed down too fast and thrown up just as quickly, before she’d learned to feed the hungers in moderation. Her body was human, barely. There was only so much it could take at once.

She’d pounded at the door until her hands grew bloody, collapsing to the floor with exhaustion, and only then had it opened, admitting what Tasha had thought, for one wild moment in her delirium, was a ghost. Pale as the grave, he was, his skin shimmering in candlelight. But his eyes…his eyes were yellow and wide, and his hands steadied her, helping her to her cot, kneeling before her as he cleaned her bleeding knuckles with water and then salve, wrapping the bandages with care. The fear and guilt and anguish had not abated in Tasha’s chest, but something warm had cut through it, almost tender, and it had been a calm in the storm, that when Tasha gasped for air she found it, one bandaged hand finding purchase in his hair as he finished with the other one, her fingers shaking as they carded through the locks.

“You’re the boy,” she’d managed. “From…from the circle.”

He lifted his head to look at her. There was no expression on his face now, no howl of grief or pain, but it lanced through Tasha anyway, and she had gasped, clutching her stomach with a cry as she doubled over. The boy’s hands had covered hers, touching her gently. “I am sorry,” he whispered.

“What…what did you do to me?”

“You are my vessel,” he’d explained, and Tasha had stared, bewildered.

“Those are just stories.” But his eyes, his skin…the dispassion on his face and that never-ceasing pain coursing through her…

He hesitated. Tasha couldn’t breathe for the ache in her chest, and she hiccupped a sob, shaking as he laid her carefully back, stroking the hair off her forehead. “Rest,” he said softly. He stood, and Tasha’s hand shot out, seizing his wrist tight. She dropped it as pain stabbed through her own, gasping as she clutched at it. “Careful,” the boy breathed. He cradled her wrist, folding it pointedly across her chest, where she could cradle it in her arm, watching with reproachful eyes. “My pain is your pain.”

“Make it stop.”

“I do not know how.”

And for all that Tasha had felt in that moment, all the chaos in her body, she had known that the unfeeling shell, the man who could not see morality if it did not hurt him deeply, was a lie. Because there was a pain in the boy’s eyes, a muted version of the one that coursed through her. He was sorry. And Tasha remembered how he had begged too.

She curled up carefully on her side, swallowing hard. “Can you fix it?”

“I will try.”

“Data.” The voice of the mage, sharp from outside the door. “You’ve been in there long enough.”

He straightened. “Yes, Father.” He cast Tasha one last look, before marching from her chamber without looking back. Tasha had kept still, arms wrapped tight around her stomach, and choked back the sobs, fist clutched tight at her chest against the bead of light still solid there, nearly squashed against the turmoil of someone else’s guilt and her own rage, but still so very, very warm.

Tasha woke just before the first of dawn’s ray could brighten the forest floor. Data had already broken camp, waiting patiently for her, and it took her little time to dress and fix her bedroll, shouldering it with the rest of her gear. A horse would have been nice, but something about Data seemed to spook the animals. Or perhaps it was Tasha. They were apart so rarely it hardly mattered. Besides, it was too risky to keep to the main roads, and while the backroads were safer for them, it would be harder on a horse. So they went on foot. Tasha had been a scrawny thing off the streets once, but she had since grown strong. Her muscles no longer ached when she walked long distances, even when they ought to have burned for two.

“We’ll make good time,” she commented as they set out, Data passing her the remains of the venison without a word. “We’ll be there before nightfall.”

Data nodded in agreement. Tasha cast him a sideways glance. It wasn’t like Data to be overly quiet; he was a curious thing, and had been through all the decades Tasha had known him – longer, if his memories were any judge, and Tasha had glimpsed those in her sleep. Fitting, since Data no longer had need of it, that she should dream for both too. When he was quiet, it was because he was preoccupied. In this case, Tasha suspected her nightmare had been the culprit.

She’d first dreamt of the ceremony mere weeks after it had been performed, still locked in her pitiful room but more stable now, able to crest the sudden surges and drops in emotion with less agony, able to eat slow enough to keep food down. At fifteen, Tasha had just barely come into awareness of the pleasures of her own body – she’d known about sex, of course, but that she herself could feel pleasure was something that seemed quite separate at the time – and that urge too she’d learned to quell. She could never say she was fully satisfied with any of it, but she could take the edges off, rounding out hunger into something mellow and manageable.

The nightmare had changed all that. She’d hurt herself thrashing, colliding with the stone wall her cot was pressed against. It had brought Data back to her room, and she’d shaken awake restrained by him, the shell murmuring apologies as he attempted to duck back from her strikes, the ones that landed doubling back on Tasha until she realized where she was. She panted, her wrists held tight to the ratty bedding, staring up at him. Her shirt was torn, much of her skin visible, if filthy, and Data had glanced down and then looked swiftly back to her face, although not before the stab of lust hit Tasha like a tidal wave. She keened, head tipping back, body arching as her feet scrabbled against the bedding. Data had made no comment, had only averted his eyes and held her still through it, until the feeling abated enough for Tasha to control it.

Data was her age, after all. You didn’t even need to be a pretty girl for a boy of his age to feel lust at the sight of you half clothed.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly when she’d quieted. When she nodded he released her, and Tasha rubbed her wrists as she sat up, Data sitting back on the edge of her bed, a respectful distance between them.

“I had a nightmare,” she told him. “About the ceremony.”

Data looked away. The apology was visible on his lips, but Tasha halted it. “I felt your pain, and mine. It hurt you.”

“The last pain I will ever feel,” Data murmured. Shame, muted but all-encompassing, washed over Tasha. She winced, and it happened again. “I am sorry,” he said. “I am…trying.”

“You can’t fight what you can’t feel,” Tasha told him. It was charitable of her, she thought, but she couldn’t help it. It was hard not to emphasize with someone you could literally feel in anguish.

Data made no response to it. Instead, he told her, “I have been looking through my father’s books, to find a way to break the bond. I have been unsuccessful. He knows I did not want it. He is being careful.”

“Is he going to let me out?”

Data shook his head. “Not soon. You are the closest to a success that my father has achieved. He would not risk you running off.”

Tasha remembered what the mage had said, about the ‘others.’ “The other girls went mad?”

Data shook his head. “Only one. The rest are little more than shells themselves. Whatever they might feel, they are too broken to express it. Their minds are gone.”

Tasha shivered at the thought. She drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “And the other?”

Shame again, but also anger, mild enough to coast over, but sharp enough that Tasha’s breath caught. “It is evil magic,” Data said. “Immoral. Unpracticed and dangerous. Easy to make a mistake.”

“And your father…he made a mistake?”

“I…do not know.” Data looked towards the door and then back to her. “My brother, Lore, was never easy to get along with. He could be cruel and capricious, quick to anger. His shell took all that, and it twisted in her. I can still recall her screams. And her…her laughter.”

The words sounded clinical, but Tasha felt the pain beneath them, distress tangible and bitter in her throat. Data tipped his head, and continued, “Lore appeared unchanged, but for physically. He was still cruel. Still capricious. His anger he might not have felt, but he showed it truly enough. A habit, perhaps. But his shell…” He shook his head. “She is here, still. But unlike you, she needs no lock and key. She needs only my brother. He is not cruel to her, and she serves only him.”

“Then it worked.”

“No.” Data looked her in the eyes, and Tasha found that unnatural though they were, she felt no urge to shrink from them. “She is little better than an animal, driven by hate and rage and wild glee. My brother is her master. A vessel, a true vessel, as the magic intends, serves as counterpoint.” He placed a hand on his chest. “I feel nothing.” He matched his other hand against her heart. “You feel everything. We are in sync. Balanced in power.” He withdrew, and looked away again. “This is as my father describes it.”

“But you don’t agree?”

“You feel my pain. I could hurt you if I desired. You could do very little to hurt me.”

It was a valid point, and yet. Tasha reached out, cupping Data’s face. “Do you feel this?”

He covered her hand, then removed it, returning it to the bed. “I feel the physical sensation, somewhat. The heat of your touch. But it evokes nothing in me.”

But Tasha had felt the warmth flare in her chest, dancing up like a pup greeting a master after a day away. She curled her hand in the bed linins, as if to capture that warmth. “What happens if I die?” If was not that she wanted to act, but…

“The magic will halt our age,” Data told her. “We will be resistant to harm. But, should something happen…” He looked at her. “My death will mean agony for you. It may drain not just my feeling from you, but your own. It is a risk. But your death will mean everything you feel, everything bound into you, will flow back into me. The shock is said to kill almost instantly.”

Tasha expected fear, but what little she felt was her own. There was no stirring from Data, no terror at the thought that she held his life in her hands. The only thing she had felt from him was concern, the idea of her in pain turning his – well, her – stomach. She wrapped her arms around it, and made a decision. In the steadiest voice she could manage, she said, “Let’s not get ourselves killed, then.”

Tasha though back on that conversation often, on the unlikeliness that out of all Data’s siblings and their vessels, she had been the one to come out nearly unscathed. That Data cared more for her well-being, even barely knowing her, than he did about his own demise. The latter still held true, and she suspected always would.

One thing, at least, had held false from that night. Tasha had feared herself a child of fifteen forever. They ought to have been, but Data’s father had some powers – precious few without a conduit, she’d learned, but enough – and the mage had wished to see his son grow to a young man. Tasha teased Data sometimes, that she had gone through both of their growing pains at once, the aches of stretching and filling out, the rapidly shifting moods, and at times the overwhelming heat burning in her, the sweeping tidal waves of lust. Data had not been willing to assist her back then, nervous to touch, but Tasha had made do with her hand and her imagination. Data rarely felt anything akin to lust these days, except at her own egging, but Tasha found she was rarely denied. Data enjoyed her pleasure, in his own way.

He did not enjoy the teasing reminders. Tasha understood why. Those early years, the ones still under the mage Soong’s version of care, stung in many ways. He had not been able to age Data up slowly, and so it had happened all at once, magicking Data’s body into that of a young man – mid-twenties, at an estimate, although Tasha found she was poor at guessing ages – before he had yet turned eighteen. Data had not felt it, but Tasha…as her body had grown to match, she had felt the power of the magic, fire and pain coursing through her, as agonizing as the ceremony that had bound her to Data as her form had burned and burned. She had been in and out, barely conscious, for days, remembering only snatches, Data attending to her, keeping her cool with damp cloths and keeping her from injuring herself when the pain made her lash out. Sleepless, he kept watch.

Now, they kept walking in silence, save for the twigs that snapped under their feet. Tasha ate until the venison was gone, licking her fingers and then tucking them to her sides. Data cast her a sideways glance, a question, and she did not need to give him more than a look in response, a raised eyebrow that told him she was fine, her hunger soothed enough to handle. There was no need to get overbearing. He passed her a waterskin in response. Tasha rolled her eyes, but she drank appreciatively.

They both got tense as the backroads began to converge with the main one, although Tasha was the only one who showed it. It took no more than another glance to have Data drawing a pair of fine hide gloves from his cloak, tugging them on over his pale fingers before he drew his hood up over his head. When he kept it bowed, the shadows hid the pallor of his skin, and it was easier to avert his eyes. They’d learned long ago that it was safer this way. A shell was less threatening in many ways than a witcher, with none of the bulk or animal instincts, but that never seemed to matter. They were like as not to have swords drawn on them if someone understood Data’s identity, and Tasha’s blade hung heaviest at her side when they stepped onto the main road, where there would be other travelers to spot them. She could only hope this would not be one of the towns they were run out of.

It always seemed to be fifty-fifty whether she was cursed out with Data when discovered, or whether the villagers would attempt to ‘save’ her. Some saw her as an innocent victim. Others saw her as tainted, twisted unnaturally by the passions of man forced into her body. None stopped to ask why Tasha traveled with Data willingly. She doubted any could fathom such depths of love.

“Heads down,” she said aloud, more to herself than Data. “With any luck, it won’t be long.”

Data cast her a glance, and she held in a snort. “Right,” she murmured. “When have we ever been lucky?”

It was the off season, now. Few travelers on the roads, with the impending weather. It kept them relatively undisturbed, passing only a handful of others, mostly going in the opposite direction. It took great effort for Tasha to keep her hand from resting on her sword, and she checked several times for the daggers concealed against her torso, until a look from Data stilled the gesture.

She was trained in the arts of weaponry, although she hadn’t been when she’d been scooped from the street. It had been well over a year before Soong trusted her quiet compliance enough to let her wield a blade. She’d practiced with Data, learning the measures alongside him, hissing with pain when she nicked him. Data’s blood no longer flowed red, and he had stared at his hand the first time it came away golden. Tasha had dropped her sword, rushing forward to help.

“I’m so sorry,” she told him, peeling the cloth away from the wound to examine it. Just a shallow cut, hardly worth the trouble. Her own arm throbbed in response when she put gentle pressure on it, winding a strip of fabric around to staunch the bleeding. Warmth flared in her chest, that familiar friend now, and Tasha fought a blush, glancing up briefly to where Data was watching her work. Like the rest of Soong’s complex, the training rooms were underground, the sparring grounds ringed by the flow of water off the coast washing in with the tides. Tasha could just barely hear her heart pounding over the waves.

Data took her hand, moving it carefully away. “It is alright. Does it hurt?”

“Stings a little. I’m fine.”

“I will be more careful.” As if it were his fault that she had landed the blow, his weakness rather than her skill.

“Let’s take a break,” Tasha had suggested, and Data nodded, following her lead when she sprawled into a seat on the stone floor, hauling her pack closer and digging out chunks of bread and cheese, biting into them with relish. She’d stopped trying to offer to share with Data months ago; he never accepted, pointing out that Tasha was eating for him as well. It wasn’t just that he never hungered. He could hardly taste now either.

But he let Tasha hook her ankle around his as they sat, looking thoughtfully at the water. Tasha knew now it would take very little prompting from her to get him going on its properties, what made the composition different here than out at sea, what kinds of fish preferred this climate, what properties the rockface held. But she didn’t prompt him. Instead, she said, “I’m thinking about leaving.”

It made Data still, shoulders tensing, the reflecting echoed physically into Tasha. Her chest clenched, and she breathed through it. “Soong has been giving me more freedom, but I still can’t get into the library. He won’t let you at the books. We won’t break this sitting here playing with swords.”

“There is a way to break it,” Data said softly. Tasha’s chest tightened again, but this time it was with her own anger.

“No,” she said firmly. “It’s liable to kill you.”

“But you would be free.”

Tasha shoved him gently with her toes, barely enough to feel. “I don’t want to be free if it means your death.” They had been dancing around this thus far, the growing attraction, both resisting for the same reasons. Tasha didn’t push the point. “Data, your father only cares about the power his sons will bring. He cares about you as his legacy, not as a person.”

“I am not a person.”

“Bullshit.” Tasha scooted forward, her knees pressing into Data’s as she leaned towards him, insistent. “We’re human underneath, aren’t we? We think. We feel…” She cut off, squeezing her eyes shut and biting off the whimper at the wave surging inside her. She panted, barely registering Data’s fingers twining with hers, holding her through it. She took a shuddering breath and managed, “I won’t leave without you, Data. Our destinies are intertwined. We’re bound together, you and me. But how long are we to stay here?”

“Lore speaks of leaving,” Data said. He stared at the ground, just to the left of where they were pressed together.

“I shudder at the thought,” Tasha teased. She and Lore rarely crossed paths, even in the same ‘household,’ but their few interactions were enough. She nudged Data gently. “We wouldn’t go with him, if that’s what you’re thinking. Your brother is everything people think shells actually are, and I don’t fancy being run out of town every time he decides to try to _feel_ something.”

“They may run us out anyway. You would not be safe, traveling with me.”

Tasha looked at him. She frowned, pressing even closer, tightening her grip where Data’s fingers were still laced with hers. “I’m safer with you than anywhere else,” she breathed. “No one has ever looked after me the way you do. No one else has ever cared.”

“You deserve more.”

“So do you,” Tasha countered. She smiled. “Besides, if anyone came at you, I’d defend you with my sword.”

Data gave the tiniest smile, and a spark of laughter not her own flared through Tasha. Data raised his eyes, slowly, to meet hers. “I must care about you,” he said softly. “Or I would be a monster.” He reached, hesitated, and then brushed the backs of his fingers across Tasha’s cheek. “You are my vessel. Every hurt you feel is my doing.”

“Not every,” Tasha breathed. “Not your fault.”

He didn’t correct her, but Tasha knew he didn’t believe it. She wet her lips, trying to keep her eyes from flickering to his mouth, so close she could feel their breath as one. “You care, Data,” she murmured. “Not just because we’re shell and vessel. Because it is in your nature to be caring.”

Data’s breath shuddered a little against hers, and Tasha couldn’t determine which of them the heat flaring to life was coming from. Maybe both. It didn’t matter. She squeezed her eyes shut, turning her head and biting her lip hard to keep from giving in to temptation, startling and then relaxing when Data pressed his temple against hers. Her breath evened, her thumb stroking over the back of his hand. “Come on,” she said quietly. “Let’s try that move again.” She felt the pain of separating acutely, swallowing hard as she picked up her sword, swinging it in her hand and turning back to Data. She crooked her fingers, grinning. “Come at me.”

The town was small, more a hamlet really, but a couple of mud-stained travelers drew little attention as they made for the tavern, Data falling back automatically to just behind Tasha’s left shoulder as she pulled open the door and strode in. Tasha’s eyes might have shone a little more brightly than the average human’s, but they were still a natural blue, her skin perpetually a little flushed but hardly noticeable the way Data’s pallor would be. She kept her hair cropped short, but even covered in dirt or blood she knew she had grown up to be something of a beauty, and that combined with her rough tone tended to yield decent results with barkeeps, tavern owners, and merchants alike.

She managed to acquire a room for the night with little hassle, followed by a drink and a bowl of stew to eat, tucking themselves back away in the corner with a good view of the room. Data folded his hands on the table, head bowed, but Tasha could see the faint smile on his lips as she stretched her legs out, hooking her ankles around his while she ate, rubbing her calf against his. In her head, she counted coin; they had enough to replenish their supplies, but it would be wise to take a job somewhere between here and the next town, whether they were successful here or not. Hunting and scavenging could only get you so far honestly, and for all the skills of Tasha’s youth, Data was resistant to the idea of stealing. She obliged him, if only because there were enough ways to make a bit of coin. There were always monsters in need of slaying or, when those threats were too dangerous and best left to the strength of witchers or armies, people would pay for other goods or services, pelts they collected from their kills that tanners could work with or rare herbs the local apothecary could use. It was far from glamorous, but all in all Tasha thought it could have been worse. She knew what she had been signing up for when she’d left.

It had been a few years on, not long after the growing pains, after years of sword training and other skills Soong believed of use, when he’d begun to relax his guard, convinced neither Tasha nor his beloved son would run. Their treatment wasn’t terrible – so long as they avoided Lore and his vessel – but Tasha found it frustrating, being cooped up underground. She had Data, true, and his uncertain touches, still chaste then, but sweet, but the final straw had finally come when they had managed to break into Soong’s library, only to find the tomes on shells destroyed or, if not destroyed in totality, then the facts they needed were so far hidden that no amount of searching could find them. Tasha had stared at charred pages, collapsing to her knees. “That’s it, then.”

Data’s hand had landed on her shoulder, squeezing lightly, and she bowed her head, a snarl forming on her lips, teeth gritted as she fought bone-deep disappointment and rage. He spoke what they were both thinking. “We should go.”

She sat back on her heels, looking up at him in surprise. “Really?”

“I see nothing to stay for.” His eyes were locked with hers, soft and sweet.

She smiled.

They’d planned for months, in secret, gathering what they would need, charting the route of escape. Soong kept hidden guards towards the complex’s surface, more to keep others out than them in now. Which meant the best way out was under, when the tide was going out.

They had washed up on shore a ways away, Tasha’s head spinning, her lungs burning as she coughed up water, Data stoking her back when she spit up sea-salt and bile. It had taken hours for her to have strength enough to move, crying out in pain when Data had tried to carry her. But ultimately, destiny had smiled upon them. They had not drowned, nor been dashed against the rocks. They had lived. They would be able to start over.

The first few years – the first decade, really – had been difficult. The roads were hard, and Tasha had learned balance and control in the underground caverns of Soong’s fortress. The world above ground brought back agonies she had nearly forgotten, the freeze of snow and the burning sun. Keeping her fed and hydrated enough so as not to collapse became a priority, making sure Data kept his cloak bundled tight against cold so she wouldn’t freeze even under her own blankets, making sure that when they had need to fight, that Data avoided the steel or claws where he could. There had been a moment of true horror when a beast had clawed half through Data’s throat, and Tasha had collapsed to the ground like a cut puppet, howling with agony and spitting up blood while Data tried to stabilize her. Treat Data’s wounds first, they learned, and then see to her comfort.

It wasn’t easy. And when it was, when the horrors wore off, a new problem had risen. Tasha joked sometimes that she had handled the lusts of two teenagers at once, but they had been stifled, uneasy. In relative safety, Tasha’s libido had surged, sometimes so painful and overwhelming that she had been unable to move, crying out with need, shaking as she fought to stave off the urges. When her fingers proved all but useless, Data had discretely acquired her a wooden toy to use, his shame a sharp counterpoint to her hunger. It wasn’t his lust, she didn’t think, but the magic amplified everything, and she knew he blamed himself. The toy helped, but even that was not always enough.

The first time she had begged him had been frightening for both. Tasha’s fingers had fumbled on him, relief crashing through her when he had responded physically to the stimulation. She’d pressed her cheek to his as she rode him, panting and whining her need, and Data had held her, shushing her gently, until the heat abated and she was satisfied. He’d held her even after that, petting her hair, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, and she could feel his love inside her chest, the warmth blossoming and exploding where before it had been contained.

She would have kissed him, were she able.

She wondered sometimes if she would love him anyway, if she couldn’t feel his feelings. There was no coercion – she had learned to differentiate between his and her own – but the intimacy that bred was powerful. In the end, she didn’t think it mattered. She loved Data, and the feeling had been growing since she locked eyes with him across the circle and heard him beg his father to stop, all those decades ago. They had been traveling ever since, making their way back and forth across the Continent, sometimes out to the isles when they could get passage, although it was rare. Sometimes they traveled for the pleasure of a change of scenery, and sometimes they stayed still, the longest being a decade in a remote village by the seaside, where Data hadn’t exactly been welcomed, but they’d been told that he was free to stay, so long as they kept to themselves. But mostly when they traveled, it was on news reaching them wherever they were, keeping an ear out for mages and sorcerers of unusual power, especially those out of favor with the Brotherhood. They had to rely on whispers, rumors, but sometimes they rang true.

So far, even the ones that did had yet to be of use, but they were not ready to cease trying.

She was halfway through her bowl when Data knocked his foot against hers, prompting her to look up. He nodded minutely towards the door, and Tasha turned casually, one arm slung over the booth, to get a look at the woman who had just entered. No one could have said she wasn’t a beauty: long dark curls and darker eyes, her dress cut across the shoulders to bare the skin of her throat and collarbones, the fabric deep blue and trailing down her body like ribbons of waterfalls. Tasha might have loved Data, but unlike he, she was not immune to the charms of great beauty, and a curious pulse of heat flickered through her as she watched the woman’s hips sway. She was not the first woman Tasha had found herself attracted to, and she flushed faintly when Data raised an eyebrow at her, kicking him gently at the unspoken question, the warm throb in her own ankle not an unwelcome feeling.

The woman approached the bar, smiling broadly at the barman, who smiled back, kissing her cheek lightly and nodding in the direction of Data and Tasha’s booth. Tasha stiffened, fingers twitching towards her daggers as she made eye contact with Data across the table and he shifted too, his hand on his own weapon. The woman strode over to them, still smiling as she dragged over a chair, effectively blocking both of their exit from the cramped booth. Data lowered his head, turning away from her, even as Tasha regarded her warily. She did not appear put off by the cool welcome. “Hello, strangers. What brings you to our little village?”

Tasha had learned to spot animosity behind kind eyes. The woman appeared to have none, but Tasha remained on guard anyway. “We’re looking for a mage called Deanna.”

“I thought as much.” Her eyes flicked between them, curious. “Will sent for me the moment you stepped through his doors. He’s a good sense for who might require the services of a mage.” She glanced back towards the bar, at the barman, who was making a show of not watching them directly. Her gaze flicked back to Data. “Strangers in long cloaks who won’t show their faces tend to be a good guess.”

Tasha understood. “You’re the mage.”

She gave a shallow, seated bow at the waist. “Deanna of Troi, at your service.” When she straightened, she added, “Do I get your names, or shall I guess?”

“Tasha.” She jerked her head across the table. “He’s Data.”

“You know…” Deanna said, folding her hands on the table as she leaned in. “Different mages, they have different senses of magic. Some are better with nature, others with the elements. Me, I’m a people person. I work best with emotion.” Her voice was casual still, but it took on a calculated note. “What I’m sensing now is unlike anything I’ve sense in a human being before. So, shall you keep me in suspense, or will you trust me?”

Tasha and Data exchanged a glance. She could feel his tension thrumming through her as much as her own, but she gave him a brief nod. Her fingers tightened around a hilt, prepared, even as Data released his weapon, raising gloved hands to his hood and lowering it carefully. Deanna’s breath caught. “You’re a shell.” She glanced across to Tasha. “Which means…”

“I’m his vessel,” Tasha confirmed. She narrowed her eyes. “Is that a problem?”

“It explains what I’m sensing,” Deanna said. She sat back, disbelief across her face. “I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never met one in person.”

“We are extraordinarily rare,” Data said. “And for good reason.”

“I should say so.” Deanna glanced back to Will, and the look that passed between them was not unlike the way Tasha and Data could communicate without a word, although in their case it came from decades of reading each other. For a mage, it meant possible telepathy, in addition to empathic senses. Tasha didn’t let go of her knife.

“Data’s father did this to us,” she explained tightly. “The mage Soong.”

“He was excommunicated from the Brotherhood before he even finished his initiation,” Deanna said. “They never told us why.”

“Guess.”

The sorceress did not flinch at the steel in Tasha’s tone. Data cast Tasha a look, and she settled a little as his feelings did, releasing her dagger to go back to her stew. Data looked to Deanna. “We heard rumor that you had broken from the Brotherhood. Because of your work with emotional magic, we had hoped you might know a cure.”

Deanna’s eyebrows rose. “To unbind you, you mean? To remove Soong’s magic?”

“Precisely.”

Deanna folded her arms, blowing her bangs off her forehead. “I’m afraid you came a long way for nothing. As far as I’m aware, there isn’t a cure for shells.”

“There is one,” Data pointed out.

“Of course.” Deanna gave a small smile. “True love’s kiss.”

Tasha snorted. “A fairytale.”

“Tasha.”

She gave Data a sharp look. “It’s an energy conduit, not some grand romantic story ending. It will _kill you_. Don’t make me say no _again_.”

“Which is why you’ve come to me,” Deanna surmised.

Data nodded. “We have spent nearly a century searching, to no avail.” He hesitated, gaze flickering to Tasha and then lowering to the table. Tasha set down her spoon in her empty bowl, reaching out for him. His gloved hands were warm against her skin as she locked their fingers together.

Deanna looked between them. “I wish I could be more helpful. Emotions are powerful things. That Tasha has more than enough for two, and hasn’t been driven mad by it, is almost unheard of. If you approached the Brotherhood, they’d likely simply kill you and be done with the magic, and even if Tasha survived the initial agony, she would be lucky if they let her go alive.”

“Which is why we don’t go to the Brotherhood,” Tasha said sharply. She released Data’s hand, folding her arms across her chest. “If you can’t help us-“

“Well, I didn’t quite say that.” Deanna signaled to Will, the bartender, who nodded. She smiled back at Tasha. “At least let me get you another bowl. I’m sure you’re starving.”

“Always,” Tasha snarked. She settled again at Data’s warning. “Sorry.” It tasted bitter in her mouth. “I get…irritable at times like these.”

“Naturally,” Deanna said kindly. “Quite a bit of adrenaline, I imagine.” She leaned aside as the barman set another bowl in front of Tasha, taking the first with a glance towards Deanna, who smiled at him. To his credit, he didn’t so much as cast a second glance towards Data as he went back behind the bar. Tasha hesitated, and then stuck her spoon into the new bowl, nodding her thanks. Deanna delicately crossed one leg over the other, folding her hands in her lap. “You’ve already paid for a room. Stay the night, and I’ll see what I can do. I can’t promise anything, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Thank you,” Data told her. “We appreciate it.” Tasha grunted softly, and Deanna apparently took it as the same.

She stood. “You can relax here. You have my word, no harm will come to you under Will’s roof.”

Tasha stared into her stew as Deanna strode away. She set her spoon down. “I’m not hungry.”

“Tasha-“

“I’m not,” she insisted. She pressed her face into her hands, closing her eyes. “God, I feel sick.”

Data moved to her side of the booth, touching her gently. “Are you alright?”

She shuddered. “I’ll be fine. I just need a minute.” Her stomach was churning, an uneasy bundle of emotions that were mostly her own. “Are you sure this is the right call?”

“You have continually stated that it would be preferable to be unbound.”

“I know, I know.” Tasha sucked in a short breath, swallowing against the nausea. “I just…”

“Tasha.” Data’s voice was soft, so warm that Tasha felt everything else settle, like sunlight dancing over the sea at the eye of a storm. He squeezed her hand. “You do not need to be my vessel for me to care for you. I do not enjoy seeing you in pain.”

“I know.” She turned her head, pressing their temples together. “What if it changes everything?”

“Change is the nature of life,” Data told her. “But I believe our destinies are bound together, no matter what. I would not leave you.”

“Nor I you.”

“Come.” He drew her from the booth, picking up the bowl with his free hand. “You will feel better after a bath and some rest. I will speak to the barkeep.”

“I should-“

“We are safe here,” Data reiterated. “Come.” He tugged her gently towards the stairs, and Tasha followed.

She finished her soup while Data went back downstairs to see about a tub, clutching the bowl to her chest as she forced it down. She would regret it later if she refused to eat. She recalled the early attempts to find a mage, the eagerness she’d felt, the idea that she and Data could be unbound. It wasn’t just the idea that she would find control again, without the unnatural hungers that brought such horrifying pain when not tended carefully. She would gladly take Data’s pain a thousand-fold to keep him free from harm. No, what Tasha wanted more than anything about the unbinding was to give Data his pleasure back. That part was hardly fair, no matter how he assured her that he was fine, that he loved her in a way that suited him, that her pleasure was pleasing to him. It wasn’t simply about sex. That part they managed just fine. But Data could find no joy in food or sleep, could not fully appreciate a breathtaking rainbow or the glitter of the sun on the ocean. He could not laugh until he cried. More than anything, Tasha wanted to give him that feeling back.

But more and more she wondered, was it worth the tradeoff? Was his pleasure worth giving him his pain? Was it worth never again knowing what his love felt like in her chest, the ripples of his laughter and the gentle swells of his sorrow? What would they lose when they were no longer bound together, closer than any two mortal beings could even dream of being?

The barkeep, Will, nodded at Tasha when he and Data returned with the tub, starting a fire to heat the water before leaving them to it. It was better treatment than they often received, not that that was saying much. Tasha knelt by the tub at Data’s request, stirring her fingers in the water because she could judge the temperature and he couldn’t, letting him know when it was good, shedding her clothes to sink beneath the surface. Data’s fingers carded into her hair as she held her breath, eyes closed, her brain blissfully silent with her ears full of water. A moment’s peace.

She resurfaced only when her lungs burned, groaning as she tilted her head back over the edge of the tub. Data had procured a comb from their packs, and Tasha shifted into the touch, scratching pleasantly at her scalp.

After a while, she reached back behind her, tugging at Data’s clothes with a wet hand. “Come on. You need a bath too.”

It took no more prompting to get him into the tub with her, Data patiently indulging her as she grinned, soaping him from head to toe, wiping off the grime of the road.

It was as she was rinsing him off that he said, so soft she almost missed it, “If Deanna finds a cure, I would look human again.”

It was accompanied with a sweep of longing that made Tasha curl a protective hand to her chest. She stared, and he lifted his gaze to meet hers. “I would have blue eyes again. Like before.”

Tasha’s throat stuck. “They were beautiful.” She reached up, cradling his cheek. “They’re beautiful now.”

He turned into her touch, breaking eye contact. “It is not the same.”

The water sloshed a little as she climbed into his lap, her other hand coming up to his other cheek to match. “It is, baby. You’re stunning to me. No matter what.” She rested her forehead against his. “Hey. I mean it.”

“I do not deserve you.”

“Yes, you do.” Tasha tapped her forehead against him, just a light knock. “You deserve nice things, baby. Me included.” She pulled back a little, stroking her thumb over his lips. “I want to kiss you,” she murmured. “Every single day, I want to kiss you.”

“I would let you.”

“I know.” She pressed her temple to his. “That’s why I can’t. I can’t lose you.” Her throat tightened, wetness prickling behind her eyes. She shut them, and Data wrapped one arm around her back, pulling her even closer.

“Tell me what you need,” he said softly. “I would give it to you.”

She pushed her hand beneath the water, into his lap, wrapping her fingers around his soft cock and stroking gently. A matching feeling pulsed back through her core and she shuddered. “I wish you could feel this as I do.”

“I feel it,” Data murmured. “I feel it enough.” His fingers pressed up her inner thigh, pushing into her, Tasha biting back a cry as he pumped them in and out.

When she guided him inside her, it had little to do with hunger and everything to do with needing him close. She cried into his shoulder, and Data pet at her back and her hair, soothing her as he rocked up, giving her what she begged him for, the water splashing up over the sides of the tub and onto the floor. Tasha didn’t care.

Curled up in bed with him, the fire still going, both still naked under the covers, Tasha wrapped Data’s arms around her waist and murmured, “I meant it when I said you were beautiful, Data. Every time, I mean it.”

“I know.”

She could still feel lingering traces of doubt, but they faded fast. He pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck, resting his forehead there.

Carefully, into the darkness, Tasha asked, “Data?”

“Yes, Tasha?”

“If Deanna finds a cure tomorrow, would you want it?”

Data stilled. “I want you to be happy.”

“Is that more important than feeling?”

“I feel enough.” His fingers tightened minutely on her. “Do you not wish to be unbound?”

“I…don’t know.” Her stomach churned.

As if sensing it, Data squeezed gently. “Go to sleep, Tasha. Things will look brighter in the morning.”

She settled uneasily, forcing herself to close her eyes. She was sated for the night, as much as ever she could be, but sleep still did not come easy, and the dreams…

_“You’ve murdered your son.”_

_Soong looked up, setting his quill down and folding his hands together on his desk, as if Tasha wasn’t glowering daggers at him from his study doorway. “I’ve granted my son immortality.”_

_“You’ve taken everything special out of him and crammed it into me.”_

_“I’ve taken away the burdens of emotion, of base human needs.” Soong stood, beckoning her in. “Come here, Tasha. I want you to see something.”_

_Fury was surging in Tasha, not Data’s but her own, but brighter than she had ever felt, so hot she was nearly choking on it. It fueled each step into Soong’s study, her gait shaky, until her fingers curled around his desk, bracing her up. Soong cocked his head at her. “Look at you. You’re nearly coming apart at the seams. And why? Emotion. Weakness.”_

_“Because of_ you _,” she spat._

_“I did what was best for my son.”_

_“He didn’t want it! He begged you to stop!”_

_“He’s young. He’ll understand in time.”_

_“You stole his life from him,” Tasha snarled. Her nails dug into the wood. “You’re condemning him to life as a child.”_

_“Not true!” Soong pointed a finger at her. “I’m working on a spell that will fix that up. If he hadn’t been so resistant to the process, we could have done it later, but no, he had to try to run.”_

_“Doesn’t that…” Tasha panted, wincing as pain lashed through her, squeezing her eyes shut against it. “Doesn’t…doesn’t that tell you something?”_

_“I will not be lectured by a street girl who wasn’t even worth selling down the river.” Soong sat down again, his face hardening. “No one wanted you. You should feel lucky to be bound to Data. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you in your miserable, pathetic life.” He sat back in his chair. “I let you out of your room, Tasha. I can just as easily lock you back up.”_

_“Try it,” she hissed. “See if Data ever forgives you.”_

She woke shaking, Data pressing kisses to the back of her neck, doing his best to quiet her. She reached back, touching his hip. “I’m fine.” She turned in his arms, resettling her head against the pillows. “Hey.”

In the dim light of morning, Data looked less like a specter against the sheets and much more like a painting. He smiled at her, and Tasha clung to the warmth, even as her own guilt threatened to douse it.

“I don’t want to be like your father,” she told him softly. “I don’t want to take away your choice. Whatever Deanna tells us, it can’t be about what I want. We do this together, or not at all.” Her breath shuddered, and she rested her forehead against Data’s. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Soong had that right, at least.

Data nodded. “The feeling is mutual.” He stroked her cheek gently, letting his hand trail down her neck and over her shoulder before Tasha caught it in her own hand, pressing it tight to her chest.

“I need to know,” she said quietly. “If there is a cure, do you want it?”

“I would want to know. In case we needed it.” Data hesitated. “Tasha…do not think I enjoy seeing you in pain.”

“I know you don’t.”

“If I could remove that pain, I would.”

“And if I could give you everything else, I would.” Tasha smiled. “It’s easy to be self-sacrificing, isn’t it?”

“You have sacrificed a great deal more for me.”

“I’d do it again,” she admitted. “Not as it happened, but to bind myself to you on my own terms…I would have done it.”

“We still could. We could begin again.”

“But,” Tasha admitted, “I won’t be upset if Deanna says there’s nothing she can do.”

“Nor would I.”

“Of course not,” Tasha teased. Her chest felt lighter than it had in days. “I’ll feel it for you.”

“In this case, there is nothing to feel.”

“Not nothing,” Tasha told him. “Never nothing.” She squeezed his hand tighter. “Always love. No matter what else, there’s always love.”

There came a gentle knock on the door, and both sat up, Tasha pulling the cover up to her chest as Will looked in. He averted his eyes politely. “Deanna’s here to see you,” he told them, and closed the door behind him.

Tasha looked to Data. “Are you ready?”

“I believe so.”

Tasha pressed her temple against his, closing her eyes as she leaned into the touch. “No matter what happens,” she murmured. “Our fates are one.”

“No matter what,” Data echoed.

Together they rose, dressed, and went down to greet the dawn.


End file.
